Taming The Dragon
by Takk the Hideous New Girl
Summary: This is the seventh book, from the point of view of the people at Hogwarts. Enjoy, and review!
1. Night Thoughts

10 December, 2:15 a.m.

Slytherin common room

Draco sat completely still in the deserted common room, illuminated only by the feeble light of the quickly dying fire. He'd given up trying to tend the flames nearly an hour ago, and now simply watched the lazily dancing shadows they threw on the wall opposite. He longed for a window, but down here there were none. They were under the lake-there was nothing to look at. In the past he hadn't been bothered by this, but now he found the dungeon chambers unsettling. It was dark here even at midday, and the temperature ranged from cool in spring to bitterly cold in winter.

He was looking at an old photograph of himself; the year scribbled on the back told him he'd been seven years old. He didn't recognize the surrounding room, but he didn't care about that. He felt strangely protective of the small, alarmingly blond child in the picture. The little boy knew nothing of what was to come, a mere ten years later. At that moment he would have given anything and everything to go back in time, to become the small child looking back at him.

"You're so lucky," he whispered, running a pale finger lightly over the photograph. For no reason at all he thought of his third year, of the hippogriff who had cut his arm. He wished the wretched beast had killed him then.

He stood and made his way across the darkened common room, treading the familiar path to the dormitories. He didn't particularly want to sleep in the common room. He tentatively pushed open the door, barely enough to slip through, and stood as though petrified for a moment in the doorway. Mercifully, however, no one stirred. He crossed the room silently to his bed, closing the hangings as quietly as he could.

He desperately missed his mother-no, that wasn't quite right. He missed his mother the way she used to be, when he was small. She was never particularly affectionate during the day, especially not in the company of others, as though to show a softness toward her son would have been unseemly. Draco didn't know-perhaps it was. But by night she had hugged him, kissed him, told him stories, occasionally told him she loved him. She had not done this since he was eleven. Twice, during his father's long absence the previous year, she had hugged him.

He had thought his father's return would be pleasant, but far from it. Lucius had always been far too busy to accomodate his son, but now he barely acknoledged Draco's existance other than to brusquely demand assistance. Besides, Death Eaters had routinely visited the manor during the summer, and Draco dreaded these occasions. His father demanded that he be two things during these visits-present and silent. He loathed looking at the Death Eaters; they simultaneously frightened him and turned his stomach. He often sought his mother after these unpleasant visits, though she never comforted him or acknoledged his presence beyond nodding or distractedly murmuring "Draco." He didn't care-well, he did, but he did his utmost not to. It hurt.

During the four months he'd been back at Hogwarts, his parents hadn't written to him. He didn't care about that-it was highly unusual for them to write anyway. Besides, he didn't particularly care what went on at home beyond knowing that his parents were all right, and he knew he'd hear about it if they'd been killed.

He pulled his blankets tighter around him, thinking of home. But of course, the manor had become not so much his home as his father's headquarters. He would be returning there for Christmas in two days, and he dreaded it. For one thing, it meant seeing his Aunt Bellatrix, of whom he had been deathly afraid since he was very young. Bellatrix was younger than his mother, fifteen years to the day older than he. Though she very rarely spoke directly to him, her presence made him extremely uneasy.

No, Draco was not looking forward to going home. He'd considered staying at Hogwarts, but every moment he spent in the castle was a bitter reminder that it would never be the same again, and that this horrible change was entirely his fault.

Burying his face in his pillow, he closed his eyes against the tears that threatened to overpower him. He felt wretched. He had never been so miserable at Hogwarts, and he could scarcely remember ever being so miserable in his life.


	2. The Thestral's Downfall

10 December, 8:45 a.m.

The Entrance Hall

Ginny slowly descended the stairs into the Entrance Hall, running her hand absentmindedly along the banister. Her eyelids felt heavy, and her eyes burned with tiredness. She'd been up most of the previous night with Luna in the Room of Requirement, preparing for their planned assault on the Headmaster's office. She had to tell Neville that everything was ready.

Yawning slightly, she reached the entrance to the Great Hall without really looking where she was going. As a result, she was awoken to her senses as she collided head-on with Draco Malfoy, sending her painfully to the stone floor. He looked ill and tired, and a very faint redness around his pale gray eyes told her he'd been crying. Though she'd said approximately nine words to him in her entire life, she found herself feeling, to her complete surprise, almost heartbreakingly sorry for him.

"Sorry," he nearly whispered, helping her up from the floor. "I-I didn't see you." Ginny frowned. This was very strange-she'd expected him to spit out a contemptuous suggestion that she watch where she was going.

"No," she said, dusting herself off. "It was my fault. Are you all right?" She realized this question was slightly ironic considering it was she who'd been knocked to the floor. He nodded briefly before moving past her and into the Great Hall. After a moment, she followed, taking a seat beside Neville.

"Morning, Ginny," he greeted her cheerfully. She yawned.

"Urgh, if you say so. Luna and I were up till three last night. It's ready." His eyes widened.

"Really? Wow! Brilliant!" She nodded, pouring herself some coffee and scanning the Ravenclaw table. Luna looked cheerful but every bit as tired as she.

"I think we should do it today," Neville went on, helping himself to bacon. "I mean, now it's ready, why wait?"

"Yeah, all right. I'll tell Luna in Charms."

In low voices, the two friends discussed their plan for the umteenth time. Everything was finally in order.

As Draco approached the Slytherin table, he saw that Pansy and Blaise had purposely left a space between them so they wouldn't have to sit next to one another. He rolled his eyes. Brilliant. Apparently, the two hadn't stopped their bickering. Sighing, he seated himself between them.

"You're late, Draco," said Pansy at once.

"Good morning to you too, Pansy," he said heavily. "Morning, Blaise."

"Morning, Draco." Blaise put a great deal of emphasis on Draco's name, which told him that he'd spend the day being addressed thus while his two friends determinedly did not speak to one another. Sighing, he poured himself some coffee, drinking it black. He didn't care much for the taste, but he found the warmth comforting. Pansy looked at him intently.

"You've been crying," she accused.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he snapped. She shrugged.

"Well, all right then. Hurry, will you, we're going to be late to Charms." He drank the last of his coffee and pushed aside his barely touched toast.

"Right, I'm coming." The two friends stood and made their way across the hall. As they were seventh years they parted the jostling crowd easily, and soon they were walking along the mostly deserted corridors to Charms.

Later that day, Draco made his way quickly across the grounds. Snow was falling and it was bitterly cold, but he was kept warm by his cloak. He intended to spend his free period out here. This meant cutting his next class very fine indeed, but he didn't care. He wanted to visit the Thestrals at least once before returning home for the holidays. They always soothed him, and seemed to understand him much better than most people did.

He passed through the large paddock sometimes used for Care of Magical Creatures lessons and made his way to the edge of the Forbidden Forest. He disliked coming in here, but the Thestrals were generally disinclined to venture out.

Coming to a stop barely twenty feet inside the forest, Draco reached inside his robes and extracted a small quanity of meat, wrapped in paper and stolen from the lunch table. Placing this gently on the forest floor, he moved back a few paces and waited. Not all of them always came, indeed some came very seldom. However, Aclyptia, Draco's favorite, always came. Indeed, after a few moments Draco detected a pair of red eyes between the trees, and seconds later Aclyptia's sleek, black form emerged from the darkness. She was small for a Thestral, barely thirteen hands tall, her leathery wings currently folded over her back. He smiled. Thestrals looked slightly alarming, with their black, skeletal forms and their glowing red eyes, but Draco rather liked them. They were very gentle creatues.

Draco had been able to see them since his first day at Hogwarts. When he was seven years old, his Aunt Bellatrix had taken him behind the house, telling him she wanted to show him something. She had been very excited, and had taken her nepphew by side-along apparation to a wood somewhere far away. Through the trees, they had seen a family of Muggles having a picnic in a sunny clearing. Bellatrix had told Draco firmly to remain where he was before marching into the clearing, where she amused herself by brutally tortuing the Muggles for a while before abruptly killing them. Draco had been terrified, and had remained at his mother's side for the rest of the day. He had never told anyone about this; even now, he didn't like to think about it.

"Hello," he greeted the Thestral. She approached him slowly, gently nuzzling his outstretched hand before turning her attention to the meat he'd left on the ground. Having consumed this, she turned back to Draco, extending her long pink tongue to lick his fingers. He smiled and gently stroked her head, moving his hand gradually down her neck. As she moved closer to him, however, he noticed that she was limping. He frowned.

"Are you all right?" he said softly, bending down to examine her leg more closely. What he saw nearly made him vomit. Aclyptia's left hind leg was slashed brutally open, from just above her hoof to just below her hip. The wound was very deep, so that in some places the bone showed through, and it was turning a nauseating greenish color. Draco couldn't believe he hadn't noticed it right away.

"Aclyptia..." he whispered, tears stinging his eyes as he gently wrapped his arms around her neck, resting his cheek in her soft mane. This wound looked terrible, and it looked as though she'd had it for several days. Judging by the discoloration, it was probably infected. He knew very little about Thestrals, but even he knew that they usually died soon after an injury of this magnitude. Draco couldn't imagine what he'd do if he lost his favorite Thestral. She had been a valuable friend to him for five long years. She had listened to him, licked away his tears when he cried, let him ride her when he fancied a bit of adventure. He couldn't lose her.

Hugging the Thestral tighter, Draco forced himself to think rationally. He must not panic. Not having studied Care of Magical Creatures beyond his fifth year and not having been particularly interested in the subject anyway, Draco had no idea how to go about treating a Thestral. Well, he would just have to get her to someone who had, that was all. He gently patted her neck.

"Lie down," he whispered, releasing her slightly. "I'll be back in a moment, all right? Stay here." Making sure that Aclyptia had settled obediently onto the forest floor, he gently kissed the Thestral's head before he turned and ran full-out back toward the grounds. He must find Hagrid.

Heart pounding, Draco tore up the slope to the paddock, leapt the fence with a strength he didn't know he had, and ran until he reached the small cabin on the edge of the grounds.

"Hagrid!" he called desperately, pounding on the door. "Hagird, please, it's important!" From within the cabin, someone muttered "What the ruddy hell...?" and seconds later the door was flung open. Hagrid narrowed his eyes.

"Malfoy," he said suspiciously. "What the ruddy hell're yeh doin' here, yeh should be in class."

"Please, sir, it's one of the Thestrals." Hagrid looked taken aback.

"Thestrals? And since when've yeh called me sir?"

"Please," said Draco, ignoring the second part of Hagrid's response. "She's hurt." Hagrid's frown deepened.

"Whaddaya mean, hurt?"

"It's her leg, sir, it's cut, it looks infected. Please, sir, I think it's serious." Hagrid nodded grimly.

"Show me," he directed. Immensely relieved, Draco led the gamekeeper as quickly as he could back to the forest. Aclyptia was still lying where he had left her, looking somewhat indignant at Draco's abrupt departure. He immediately knealt by her side, gently stroking her head and neck. Hagrid bent to examine her leg.

"Didn' know yeh could see Thestrals," he remarked. "Or, I dunno, can yeh?"

"Of course I can," Draco replied, a touch impatiently. If that wasn't a stupid question. How else would he have known the Thestral was hurt in the first place?

"Oh," Hagrid muttered distractedly. "Who'd yeh see..." he trailed off, looking as though perhaps he shouldn't have asked that question. Draco stared at the forest floor.

"Er...Dumbledore." It was not a lie, he had seen Dumbledore die. And he certainly wasn't going to tell about the Muggles.

"Ah...Well, I reckon yeh should go up to class. Yeh're cuttin' it fine, and there's nothin' yeh can do fer her anyway."

"But, sir...She will be all right...Won't she?" Hagrid looked at him for the first time since they'd arrived in the forest.

"Yeah, she'll be all righ'," he said, not unkindly. "I'll sort her out." Draco felt as though he might pass out from relief.

"Thank you, sir," he said before departing. He didn't want to leave, but he knew Hagrid was right; there was nothing he could do. He quickened his pace as the bell sounded overhead, breaking into a run as he reached the castle. Even so, however, he arrived at Transfiguration nearly five minutes late. Professor McGonagall raised her eyebrows as he dropped into his seat.

"Thank you for gracing us with your presence, Mr. Malfoy. You are five minutes late, so I think five points from Slytherin would be appropriate." He sighed slightly, ignoring Pansy's questioning look. Professor McGonagall turned back to the rest of the class.

"Now that Mr. Malfoy has been so kind as to join us, we are ready to further study the difficult branch of magic that is human transfiguration..."

Draco wasn't listening. He couldn't stop thinking of Aclyptia, her injury standing out horribly vividly in his mind. He hoped with all his heart that she would be all right.

"What do you _mean_ we can't do it today?" Ginny demanded, tossing her long red hair behind her shoulder. "Of course we're doing it today, we've been planning it for weeks!"

"I'm sorry, Ginny, but it won't work," said Neville contritely. "We need all three of us, and I promised Professor Sprout I'd help her fit socks on the mandrakes."

"Well, that's all right," Luna put in. "We'll do it another day, that's all."

"But, Luna!" Ginny exclaimed. "We've worked so hard, we've been planning this for ages!"

"I'm really sorry," said Neville again. Ginny shook her head, sighing.

"Oh, all right," she conceded. "I've got a lot of homework tonight anyway." Neville looked immensely relieved, apologized once more, and departed at top speed for the greenhouses. Almost in spite of herself, Ginny felt her annoyance ebb away as she watched him go. He looked so eager, so happy. She turned to Luna.

"Well, I'm going up to the Room of Requirement to check that everything's still in order," she said. "Fancy coming along?"

"Oh, no, thank you," said Luna serenely. "I think I'll go and have dinner."

"All right," said Ginny, shrugging. "I'll see you later, then." She departed quickly for the seventh floor.

Upon reaching the correct corridor, however, Ginny discovered to her annoyance that it was still very crowded with students hurrying to and from the Great Hall. She sighed. The Room of Requirement would have to wait.

As she turned and slunk out of the corridor, she caught a fleeting glimpse of Malfoy as he passed her, heading the opposite way. She smiled very slightly. She'd thought he was mildly attractive in her fourth year, and he had grown steadily more so since then. She'd never mentioned this to anyone; Ron probably would have hit her, and in any case she'd never imagined they would ever be together. They'd exchanged barely ten words before this morning, and their paths hardly ever crossed. Besides, he probably prefered someone else-she rarely saw him out of the company of Pansy Parkinson.

Even so, she still noticed him. She couldn't help but notice his smooth, pale complexion, the sheen of his blond hair, his eyes which seemed to change between silver and gray depending on the light. No, none of this escaped her notice, and it was this image which settled into her mind, kept her company as she did her homework that evening, and refused to leave even as she fell asleep that night.


	3. Happy Holidays, Everyone

12 December, 5:45 p.m.

Malfoy Manor

**Let me preface this chapter by quoting Captain Underpants:**

"**This chapter contains scenes of Incredibly Graphic Violence. If you are offended by such senselessness, I strongly urge you to raise your arms over your head and run screaming to your nearest shoe store. When you get there, ask them to make you a cheeseburger."**

**Or something like that, anyway. But seriously, if you have a weak stomach, skip this chapter. It won't hurt my feelings AT ALL.**

When Draco apparated into the parlor, having just come from King's Cross, Bellatrix was in the process of gleefully torturing someone who lay slumped, unconscious, on the rug at her feet. He could tell it was an old man, but Draco couldn't see his face. Involuntarily, he shuddered. His father sat in a large armchair nearby, surveying the proceedings with a bored expression on his face. Hearing the loud crack that announced his son's presence, Lucius glanced up.

"Go upstairs, Draco," he said lazily, by way of a greeting. "And come back down at seven-thirty. We're having a few...ah...guests tonight. Don't be late."

Shrugging his shoulders a bit, Draco obediently turned his steps toward the magnificent marble staircase at the far end of the room. He knew that "guests" meant Death Eaters. They would have dinner before moving into the sitting room, where they would be noisy until approximately eleven that evening. After that, they would be drunkenly noisy until the small hours. Draco's role in this would be to sit silently through dinner, speaking only when spoken to, and then wait until they became too drunk to notice his absence. Only then could he slip upstairs and go to bed. Next morning, he knew, his father would be in a dreadful mood.

As Draco entered the upstairs hallway, his mother emerged from her bedroom. She looked slightly surprised to see her son, then smiled, without warmth.

"Draco," she greeted, not coldly, but not warmly either. He inclined his head.

"Hello, mother." She moved past him, and Draco knew their conversation, if it could be called that, was over. He made his way to his bedroom, locking the door behind him. He knew the chances of his being disturbed were next to nothing, but he still locked his door out of habit. He crossed his magnificent bedroom and collapsed on his bed, thinking of Aclyptia. He'd tried to visit the Thestral that morning, but Hagrid had turned him away, saying that she needed rest. Draco didn't see how his presence inhibited her ability to rest, but he'd left reluctantly nonetheless. Now that he was home, he'd have given anything to go back to Hogwarts.

At seven thirty-five that evening, Draco descended the stairs to the dining room. He wore an immaculate black suit and emerald cuff links, and he'd smoothed his hair perfectly. Being slightly late was his way of demonstrating his distaste for the situation.

"Ah, Draco," said his father, looking up as he entered the room. He gave a slight smile, but his eyes clearly said "I'll teach you to be late, you little shit." Draco inclined his head slightly toward Lucius and his guests, taking a seat beside his mother. Narcissa gave him a brief look that told him he wasn't the only one dreading the evening.

The men conversed progressively more loudly, but Draco wasn't listening. He gazed absentmindedly at the crystal chandelier, bored out of his skull. He didn't see why on earth his father cared whether he attended these dinners or not-it wasn't as though anyone spoke to him. He often felt as though he were merely a decoration, something pretty to display briefly once in a while and otherwise ignore completely.

As the party moved into the sitting room, Draco comforted himself that at least he could leave soon; the adults had already had a great deal of wine. Talk had become loud and raucous, and within the hour small squabbles had begun to erupt among them. Finally, at half past midnight, Draco decided they certainly wouldn't miss him if he went up to bed. Besides, he'd had enough. Just as he rose to leave, however, his owl, Vestia, swooped into the room. Noticing the way some of the Death Eaters' eyes followed the bird's flight, he decided he'd better stay and make sure nothing happened to her. Beckoning to the owl, he reluctantly resumed his seat.

"I never liked that bloody owl," said Yaxley thoughtfully, as though reading Draco's mind. Draco felt himself tense slightly. He had a good idea what was going to come next; he only hoped he might somehow be able to prevent it.

"Me neither," said Macnair with feeling. This was followed by an uproar of grievences regarding Draco's owl, which increased steadily in volume and decreased in sense for the next several minutes.

"Let's kill it," said Bellatrix finally, her eyes alight with a wild excitement that only cruel, meaningless brutality could inspire in her.

"No!" screamed Draco, jumping up and siezing his owl from the arm of his chair, ignoring her startled hoot.

"Going to stop us, Draco?" inquired Yaxley, an amused smirk playing at the corner of his lips. Knowing better than to reply, Draco simply took his owl and made a wild dash for the doorway.

"Petrificus Totalus!" bellowed a voice from behind. Completely unprepared, Draco felt the curse strike him square in the back of the head. Time seemed momentarily to slow, every agonizing second stretching into eternity as he felt himself fall. Vestia slipped from his grip, screeching indignantly, and soared upward out of his reach. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, Draco felt himself hit the cold, stone floor. Lacking the ability to control his impact, he landed directly on his face. Instantly, Draco felt his nose break. White-hot, dizzying agony radiated from his face, drowning out Vestia's screeches and the adults' cruel laughter. The room seemed to spin around him, and a moment later everything went black.

When he regained consciousness, he was still lying where he'd fallen. He'd been released from the curse, but ropes bound his hands together. The Death Eaters had positioned him so that he could see their antics perfectly.

They were gathered in a tight circle around his unconscious owl, cackling uproariously and taking turns torturing the bird. She made no sound, but her wings twitched and her body convulsed horribly. Blood stained her feathers below her wings, and a closer look told Draco quite clearly why. Her legs had been ripped from her body and were lying several feet away. Nausea and heartbreak gripped him simultaneously at this hideous sight. He had loved that owl, dammit. She had been his best friend for nearly ten years. She'd acknoledged him when his parents refused to, accompanied him on his nighttime flights, listened patiently to his probably boring monologues and rants; he had told this bird more during these one-sided conversations than he'd told any other living being.

Tears stung his eyes, but he made no move to brush them away. The Death Eaters continued their assault on the limp owl, firing curse after curse, their horrible laughter echoing through the room, louder than Draco would have ever thought possible. And then, quite suddenly, it stopped.

"I'm bored," someone announced imperiously.

"I can fix that," said Bellatrix maliciously, and with a shiver of horror, Draco saw her draw a small, glittering blade from her pocket. _No,_ he thought desperately, struggling silently against his ropes, which refused to give way. Above him, Bellatrix raised her knife...He couldn't watch. He shut his eyes tightly, sending tears streaming from his eyes to mingle with the dried blood from his nose. The Death Eaters gave an uproarious guffaw, a harsh, hateful sound that cut straight into Draco's heart. A sob escaped him, and he made no effort to stifle it.

"Oh, he's crying," came someone's mocking voice from above.

"Touching," laughed Bellatrix, approaching him and kneeling to caress his cheek.

"Don't touch me," he hissed, his voice little more than a hoarse whisper. Bellatrix smiled sweetly.

"I think Draco ought to have a little souvenir from his precious bird," she said smoothly, standing to rejoin her cohorts. She scooped up the dead owl and turned, hiding the bird from view.

"Hold him down, Greyback," she directed over her shoulder. "Yaxley, don't let him close his mouth."

The men moved to follow her directive. Greyback's rough hands held him tightly in place, preventing him from moving a muscle. He could smell the werewolf's foul breath-a disgusting combination of rotting meat and stale vodka. He struggled furiously beneath the man's grip, but within seconds Yaxley clamped his hands firmly to his face, forcing his mouth open. Bellatrix turned back toward them. Draco realized with a horrible jolt what she was about to do, for cupped in her tightly woven hands was a small amount of dark red liquid. Vestia's blood. Horrified, Draco bit at Yaxley's fingers and attempted to claw Greyback off him. He didn't care what they did to him, he would _not_ drink his owl's blood.

But he was powerless to fight against the combined strength of Yaxley and Greyback, who soon forced him back into submission. He watched in shell-shocked horror as Bellatrix drew nearer, her malicious grin growing wider with every step she took. Accepting defeat, Draco squeezed his eyes shut. Maybe they could force him to drink Vestia's blood, but they could not force him to watch. There was a horrible moment of complete silence, everyone waiting with bated breath, before the liquid touched his tongue.

It was warm. Salty. More viscous than he would've expected. Loud, cruel laughter filled the room once more. He choked as the blood reached the back of his throat. He attempted to spit it out, but there was too much. It overwealmed his palate, coated his tongue, choked him and clogged his throat as he tried valiantly not to swallow it.

Gradually, the laughter died away, and Draco realized they had grown bored and were moving on. Talking loudly among themselves, they departed the room, treading carelessly on his fingers, and leaving him in a crumpled heap on the floor. When he was certain they were gone, he struggled to sit up.

After a minute's effort, he managed to extract his wand from the pocket of his trousers. Now, however, he realized that using it to get free would be something of a challenge, as his hands were still tied together. Sighing, he raised his wand to his mouth, lightly taking its end in his teeth. Spreading his hands as far as they would go, he aimed his wand to the best of his ability and thought _diffindo!_ firmly inside his head. The ropes split cleanly in two, releasing his hands. A stinging pain in his left hand told him he'd cut himself a bit, but he didn't care. He knew he was lucky not to have severed his entire hand.

"Episkey," he muttered, directing his wand toward his face. Instantly, he felt his nose mend.

He stood, a bit shakily, and glanced around the room. Catching sight of his owl's body, he felt his heart break into a thousand raw, jagged pieces. Vestia was gone now-dead. He'd always known he'd outlive her, but he'd never imagined her life would end like this, the product of his aunt's drunken whim. Tears filling his eyes once more, he gently picked her up.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice catching slightly. "Vesty, I'm so sorry..." He carried his dead owl down the hallway and out the door. Ripping off his bloodstained jacket, he roamed the dark lawn for several minutes, finally finding a patch of ground directly below his bedroom window. Pulling out his wand once more, he quickly pushed aside the earth to form a small grave. With a feeling of enormous sadness, he gently lowered his owl into the hole, gently brushing the earth over her.

"I won't forget you," he whispered, barely able to force the words out. He surveyed his handiwork for a few moments, until his vision was so blurred by tears that he could scarcely make out the hole at his feet. He turned and fled, now sobbing in ernest, toward the house. Mercifully, he met no one as he climbed the stairs to his bedroom. However, as he turned to collapse on his bed, nausea gripped him with such force that he knew he was going to throw up. Hand over his mouth, he dashed down the hallway to the bathroom.

Once there, he knealt in front of the toilet, vomit wrenching his stomach and tearing at his throat, expelling all the anger, hurt, and revulsion of the evening.

Nearly ten minutes later he raised his head, and collapsed to the tile floor like a marionette whose strings had been cut. Within moments, he fell into a heavy, dreamless sleep.

Hours later, he became dimly aware of a cool hand gently cradling his cheek. It felt wonderful against his hot, sweat-slicked skin.

"Draco?" whispered a soft voice from above. "Draco, wake up."

_I _am_ awake,_ he thought bitterly, suddenly annoyed. _No thanks to you._ His eyelids felt as though they were carving their way through wet cement as he forced them open. As he made the reluctant journey toward consciousness, he realized that he was lying on a cold, hard surface. His muscles felt uncomfortably taught.

His mother was kneeling beside him, looking worried and confused. When he opened his eyes, however, she looked distinctly relieved.

"Good, you're awake," she said quietly. "I thought-" she broke off, shaking her head.

"What's going on?" he asked, his voice little more than a hoarse whisper.

"I would ask you the same thing, Draco. What are you doing in here at two in the morning? And where's your father? And-Oh, Draco, is that..._blood?_" She was staring in horror at the dark stains on her son's shirt. At her question, memories of the horrible evening came crashing down on him. Instantly, he felt wide awake.

"Draco, what happened?" demanded his mother, now looking slightly alarmed. Remembering the horrible sight of his owl's bloody, broken body, he felt his eyes fill with tears once more. He shook his head. He couldn't tell her. After a moment, she sighed.

"All right," she said softly. "Would you like to go to bed?" Numbly, he nodded. She gently took him in her arms, helping him to stand. Though he could walk perfectly well himself, he didn't protest as she supported him down the hallway to his bedroom. Her arm felt safe and comforting around him, and he was not eager to give that up. Besides, he was sure that if he spoke, he'd either throw up again or burst into tears. And so he allowed his mother to accompany him. They stopped outside his bedroom door.

"Good night, Draco," she said softly, raising a hand to gently caress his hair. He swallowed hard.

"Good night, mother," he whispered, before turning and entering his bedroom. Numbly, he undressed and lay down in his bed. He stared at the darkened ceiling, unable to banish the image of Vestia's bloody feathers, her broken body, her severed legs.

It was a long time before he fell asleep.

"Mum, are Bill and Phlegm coming round for Chrismas?" Ginny asked, taking a bite of her mashed potatoes.

"Stop calling her that, Ginny," her mother reprimanded. Ginny rolled her eyes, but smiled nonetheless.

"All right, Mum, are Bill and _Fleur_ coming for Christmas?" she ammended.

"No, I don't think they are," replied Mrs. Weasley. "Bill told me they wanted to spend it together. Their first as husband and wife, you know." Grinny grinned as her feeling of well-being increased. Any Christmas not spent in the presence of _Phlegm_ was fine with her.

"All right," she said cheerfully, helping herself to more sausages. Mrs. Weasley frowned slightly.

"She's not _that,_ bad, Ginny." Ginny snorted.

"Right. Of course not. What do you think, Dad?" Arthur raised his hands in a gesture of surrender.

"I'm not involved," he declared, wiping his mouth with his napkin. Ginny laughed.

"Coward," she said, lightly tossing a balled-up napkin in her father's direction. Laughing, Arthur batted it away. It landed in the gravy boat, earning himself and Ginny a reproving glare from Mrs. Weasley.

"Oh," said Mr. Weasley contritely, gingerly lifting the napkin out of the gravy and tossing it into the nearby bin. Ginny, however, roared with laughter, entirely unabashed.

"It _isn't funny,_ Ginny," snapped Mrs. Weasley. Before she could continue her lecture, however, what looked like a large, mottled gray feather duster flew with alarming speed through the slightly open window and landed in the gravy boat, spraying all three Weasleys with the thick, brown liquid.

"Scorgify," said Mr. Weasley quickly, flicking his wand. The gravy vanished.

"Erroll?" said Ginny, tentatively reaching into the boat and lightly prodding the unconscious owl with her finger. She looked up at her parents.

"Where's he gone? Why hasn't he got a letter?"

"Out hunting, I expect," replied her mother, delicately removing Erroll from the gravy and placing him gingerly inside his cage.

"Ginny, dear, once he's recovered, please give him a bath," she added over her shoulder. Ginny nodded.

"Right, mum." At that moment, there was an earsplitting crack from the kitchen doorway. The three Weasleys looked around in alarm to see two very familiar red-haired people, identical except that one's left ear was missing.

"Late, are we?" said Fred, grinning.

"Terribly sorry," George added, stepping forward to hug his mother. Mrs. Weasley beamed.

"Fred! George! I wasn't expecting-But have you eaten? Are you hungry?" she fussed, quickly heaping large piles of food onto plates for her sons.

Talk immediately became much more lively. Fred and George were full of news about their joke shop, which still seemed to be flourishing despite the tense atmosphere in the Wizarding world. It was therefore several hours later when Ginny climbed into bed for the night, full, sleepy, and certain that the holidays would be very enjoyable.


	4. Luna's Gone, Ginny

7th January, 7:05 p.m.

Gryffindor Tower

Ginny clambered out of the fireplace, tracking a small amount of ash onto the carpet. The common room was nearly empty; most people were either at dinner, or had not yet returned. Looking around, she spotted Neville at a nearby table and made her way over.

"Evening, Neville," she greeted, seating herself across from the boy. He looked up.

"Hi, Ginny. Had a good Christmas?"

"Yeah, it was good. Listen, when are we going to try and get the sword? We've been planning it for ages, I really thought we'd be able to do it before the holidays." Neville laughed slightly.

"I thought you'd ask that. D'you reckon we could do it tonight? I mean, we've got everything ready, so why not give it a go?" Ginny grinned.

"Perfect. Have you told Luna?" Neville's face fell.

"Well, Ginny...According to Padma Patil, she...Luna didn't come back." Ginny froze, unsure of whether she had heard correctly.

"Er-What?" Neville shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"Well, er...She hasn't come back. From the holidays, you know." He sighed. "Padma reckons her father decided to keep her at home." Ginny stared at Neville, aghast. This could not be true. Padma Patil was mistaken. Of course Luna had come back.

"When did you speak to Padma Patil?" Ginny asked.

"Er...After dinner. Bit before you arrived, actually." Ginny sighed.

"Neville...If it's true...If she is, you know...Not coming back...D'you reckon she's...All right?" Neville paled slightly.

"Ginny, don't," he told her. "She's all right, she's got to be." Ginny nodded slightly and stared at the darkened, snow-splattered windows, hoping with all her heart that Neville's words were true.

When Draco entered the common room, it was empty but for a few miniscule first years and Pansy. Spotting his friend, he quickly made his way over. She grinned.

"Finally. I was beginning to think you'd decided to stay home," she said, hugging him. "I'm starving." He smiled, returning her hug.

"So why haven't you gone to dinner?"

"I was waiting for you, dumbass."

Draco normally did not permit anyone to call him dumbass, or anything else for that matter. However, he'd been called much worse by Pansy during their eleven-year friendship. Insults were their way of expressing anything from mild irritation to affection. Unusual and tumultuous though their relationship might be, they were very rarely genuinely cross with one another, and each trusted the other to the hilt.

Draco opened his mouth to respond, but at that moment Blaise appeared as though out of nowhere. There was an extremely awkward pause.

"Well, I'll see you later, Draco," said Pansy, shouldering her bag and walking quickly and erectly out of the room. Sighing, Draco turned to Blaise.

"Look, can't you-"

"No, Draco, so just stop asking."

"Well, you're driving me mad, both of you," he snapped before turning on his heel and following Pansy's steps out of the common room. But he should've expected this, he fumed, stamping up the stairs to the Entrance Hall. He'd thought that perhaps the holidays would give his two friends time to think better of their behavior, but evidently not. Maybe none of them should be friends then, he thought fiercely, bypassing the Great Hall and wandering aimlessly along the largely deserted corridors. As he neared the corridor leading to the Headmaster's office, however, he paused. There seemed to be a commotion coming from just inside. Hesitantly, he stuck his head around the corner, barely enough to see what was going on.

Alecto Carrow stood over two smaller figures; one was Ginny Weasley. The other, cowering behind Ginny's robes, was a miniscule Hufflepuff first year Draco didn't know.

"Detention!" shrieked Alecto, clearly beside herself. "And fifty points from Gryffindor and Hufflepuff! Sneaking into the Headmaster's office! CRUCIO!"

The screams went through Draco like physical pain. It was ludicrous, but he didn't like to see Ginny Weasley, usually so annimated and confident, writhing in pain. And the first year-she was only a child.

Draco acted without thinking. He stepped into the corridor, raised his wand, and pointed it directly at Alecto's back.

"Petrificus Totalus," he said firmly. The woman barely had time to turn toward his voice before she fell to the floor, stiff as a board. Ginny and Draco stared at each other, both startled by his actions. Before either could speak, however, they heard footsteps, and moments later Professor Snape himself stepped into the corridor. He raised one eyebrow, appearing darkly amused.

"Dear me, Mr. Malfoy," he said sardonically. "I did think you had more sense. Cursing a teacher? I'm afraid you'll have to join Miss Weasley and Miss McDonald in detention. Now move along, all of you."

Without hesitation they departed the scene, Ginny holding the hand of the first year, who was still whimpering.

"It's all right," said Ginny to the little girl. "Don't cry, it's all right."

"B-but what'll happen in detention?" the girl sobbed, looking utterly distraught. Ginny and Draco shared a look. Both knew that the Carrows usually dealt with wrongdoers by torturing them before making them sleep in the Forbidden Forest, but neither wanted to give this answer to a sobbing child.

"It's all right," said Draco quietly. "They'll make us write lines or something." The small girl seemed slightly comforted by this lie, and Draco felt his stomach twist uncomfortably. He felt terrible imagining her reaction when she discovered the truth.

The trio walked the remaining distance to the Hufflepuff common room in silence. When they reached the portrait, Ginny knealt once more beside the girl.

"Go to bed, all right?" she said kindly. "Everything will seem better in the morning."

The girl nodded forlornly, wiping tears from her eyes, before disappearing through the portrait hole. Ginny turned to Draco.

"Thank you," she said. "I mean, you're barking mad, but thank you." He nodded slightly.

"What were you doing? And who was she?" he asked, gesturing toward the portrait. Ginny sighed slightly.

"It's a long story. I don't know who she was, she was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. I feel awful, she was so scared." She gave him a long, searching look, and Draco noted that her eyes were the exact color of hot chocolate.

"Draco?" she said at length.

"Yes?" he replied, slightly taken aback by her use of his first name.

"What made you do it? Curse Alecto, I mean?" He sighed.

"I don't know," he said quietly. "I can't believe I did it, to be honest."

Ginny looked up at the blond boy next to her. He seemed very different from the aloof, arrogant, slightly intimidting figure she remembered. Had the horrible events of the previous year changed him that much? It had been completely mad to curse the Death Eater, and yet he had done it...But why, Ginny couldn't imagine. One thing, however, was certain. There was more to Draco Malfoy than she'd guessed, and she intended to discover all of it.

Draco, meanwhile, looked at the red-haired girl and found himself slightly shocked. He'd never given her a second thought before (or, indeed, a first one), but up close she was rather pretty, in a simple sort of way. Her vivid red hair fell in a shiny, delicious cascade to the middle of her back, giving him the urge to bury his face in it. Her dark, rich brown eyes held a gentle softness that made him think of his mother. He didn't know why, but looking at her comforted him deeply, and he didn't have the slightest desire to look away.


	5. The Forbidden Forest

12 January, 10:00 p.m.

The Forbidden Forest

Ginny made her way back into the clearing by the light of her wand, with the meager bits of wet sticks and bark she could find on the snow-covered forest floor.

"This'll have to do," she said to Draco, who was sitting nearby producing a large circle of light from the end of his wand for the comfort of their eleven-year-old companion. He nodded, and she set them on the ground beside her. Once she had moved to stand beside them, Draco pointed his wand at the tiny pile of sticks, which immediately lit and became a roaring fire. She had no idea how he'd done it, as seventh years generally performed complex magic without saying incantations aloud.

Sighing a bit, Ginny seated herself beside the first year, thinking of the previous Monday. She couldn't believe their plan had gone so badly awry; they hadn't managed to penetrate the Head's office, they hadn't got the sword, and she, Ginny, had been caught. She was relieved, however, that Neville had managed to avoid detection, and that Alecto hadn't guessed the reason for her thwarted foray into the Head's office.

As for the first year, Ginny felt terrible. Upon her appearance in the corridor Alecto had immediately assumed that the girl had been assisting Ginny, and nothing Ginny said to the contrary had convinced the professor. It was a horrible case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, and it was entirely Ginny's fault that this poor girl sat shivering between her and Draco, clearly terrified out of her wits.

Even without this guilt, the forest was not a pleasant place to spend the night. Outside the circle of light Draco had cast around them it was pitch black, and they could hear the constant sounds of unknown and possibly deadly creatures moving about them. Though she projected an image of calm for the little girl, inside Ginny was terrified. She couldn't shake the horribly vivid image of someone coming down the following day to find their three bodies, maimed almost beyond recognition by whatever horrible things dwelled within the trees. Ginny was very glad of Draco's presence, though he seemed just as anxious as she. He was taller and considerably stronger than she was, and had a year's more magical education. He could do things with a wand that she could only dream of, and this thought provided a small comfort. Besides, she could speak to him, and he would respond. Though their voices seemed small and thin among the dark trees, conversation kept her fear at bay.

Draco, meanwhile, tried very hard not to look left or right as he remembered his previous ventures into the forest by night. He was all right coming in by day to visit the Thestrals, but now images of exactly what horrors might lay in store for them refused to leave his mind. Looking at the small girl next to him, he thought of his own first year at Hogwarts. A black, hooded figure, its head raised ever so slightly over a dead unicorn, its mouth dripping silver blood...Draco shuddered. He'd had nightmares for weeks after that memorable evening.

He and Ginny made forced conversation in a desperate attempt to comfort one another without admitting they were afraid. But they were afraid. Draco could feel it in the bitterly cold air around them, thick and unyielding, feeding itself on their minds and growing by the second. The more they tried to block it out, the more it stole into their hearts, planting steadily more horrible images into their minds.

The two had gone what seemed an eternity without speaking when Draco glanced at their young companion.

"She's asleep," he said quietly. Ginny looked up, and saw that this was indeed so. She frowned slightly.

"Let's wrap her in our cloaks. It'll keep her warm." Draco shook his head briefly before standing and performing a sort of complicated weaving motion with his wand, muttering an incantation that sounded almost like a song. After a moment, Ginny realized the snow beneath them had changed. Though it appeared the same, it had become warm and dry. She looked up at the seventh year, very impressed.

"How-?"

"Shh. I'm not certain how long it'll hold," he said quietly, now waving his wand and conjuring three large, soft blankets. Ginny took one and tucked it around the sleeping girl. Then she stood, looking at the roaring fire.

"Shall we put it out, then?"

Draco looked toward her voice, and what he saw nearly took his breath away. The fire lit her brown eyes so that they looked almost gold, and he could see the dancing flames reflected in her pupils. Her red hair glittered and glinted in the firelight, and her skin shone like satin. Despite the cold, his insides suddenly felt very warm indeed.

"It won't spread," he said softly, without taking his eyes off the girl. Ginny glanced at the base of the fire and saw to her surprise that it seemed to be hovering an inch or two off the ground. She turned to its caster to remark upon this, however she found herself momentarily speechless. The glow of the fire seemed to somehow be absorbed by Draco's gray eyes, giving the illusion that they were burning from within. His blond hair looked nearly golden. His pale skin seemed to glow in heavy contrast with the blackness around them. She shivered, and unconsciously stepped forward ever so slightly.

She was much too close. Draco fought down the furious urge to touch her, anywhere, her hand, her cheek. He wasn't afraid of the forest anymore. He didn't care about anything except that he wanted Ginny more than he had wanted anything in his life. He longed to run his fingers through her hair, to hold her in his arms...To kiss her.

Ginny stared up into the boy's face, at a loss for words. She had never looked at anyone this closely before; she could see every detail of the blond's face, and she drank them in hungrily. In the dim light cast by the fire he was the most beautiful creature she'd laid eyes on. She longed to touch his pale skin-it looked so soft.

Ginny swallowed hard, forcing herself to look away. She must not make a fool of herself with Draco Malfoy. He was a year older than she, and had probably never given her a second thought. Quite apart from this, what on earth would her parents say? What would her brothers say? Would she find herself like Percy-estranged from a family who hated her very name?

But she was being foolish, she thought firmly. None of this would induce her mother to turn her away. Nothing had happened, and nothing would happen. She must not allow her imagination to run away with her.

Ginny settled down upon the soft snow, drawing a blanket around her. It was very warm indeed, and very comfortable. Draco had not conjured any pillows, but she found that she could easily make one from the snow beneath her. As her eyelids grew heavy, she made a mental note not to rest until she learned the spell he had used. With that thought, she fell deeply asleep.

Draco stared at up at the dark sky and listened to the deep breathing of his peacefully slumbering female companions, his mind racing. He'd had feelings for girls before, of course, but not like this. He'd had to fight a furious longing to kiss Ginny, and if she had looked at him for one more moment, he knew he'd have lost the battle. He didn't know what it was about the girl that made her so attractive to him, but it was simultaneously thrilling and distinctly unsettling. He wasn't sure whether he liked it or not, but he knew it mustn't continue. There would be grave consequences if Draco so much as held her hand. Consequences. All his life Draco had been taught firmly to think about the consequences of even his smallest of actions. He must not do anything, he had always been told, to damage his father's reputation. Well, he couldn't help how he felt, could he? He must not act on his feelings, that was all. Nothing had happened, nothing at all, and Draco resolved that it would remain that way. Having made his decision, Draco pulled his blanket tighter around him, and soon after he, too, fell asleep.


	6. A Minor Frustration

13 January, 6:25 a.m.

The Forbidden Forest

Draco's enchantment on the snow had given way spectacularly shortly after two that morning, but the three students had been sleeping too deeply to notice this. Consequently, when Ginny woke early next morning, she barely managed to stifle a startled yelp. She was freezing to the bone, and her clothes were sodden through. Looking about her, she noted to her surprise that the first year was gone. Draco, meanwhile, was still asleep.

She stood gingerly, shivering with cold. To her annoyance she discovered that the fire had been extinguished overnight. Sighing, she seated herself on a fallen tree. As it was Saturday it was probably too early for breakfast, but if she went up to the castle she could have a bath and change into dry clothes. However, it seemed unkind to leave Draco alone in the forest. She knew he could take care of himself and probably wouldn't miss her, but still she was reluctant to leave him. She wondered vaguely where the first year had got to. She was probably up at the castle, but nevertheless Ginny was slightly worried. She hoped no horrible misfortune had befallen the girl while she and Draco lay asleep in the clearing. With a slight shudder Ginny pushed the thought away. Of course the first year had simply awakened before her and gone up to the castle. After all, they were barely two hundred feet inside the forest; of _course_ nothing dreadful had happened.

After a few minutes, Ginny heard Draco stir behind her. She turned slightly. He sat up, shivering, and Ginny noticed that he looked distinctly worse for wear; his blond hair was wet with snow and extremely untidy, and his clothes were damp and wrinkled.

"Morning," she said, yawning slightly.

Draco looked up. Ginny's hair was damp and plastered to her head on one side, and frozen at the ends. Her clothes stuck to her skin with moisture, and she looked as cold and miserable as Draco felt. Evidently, his enchantment had not held.

"Morning," he answered quietly. "Sorry about the snow." Ginny shrugged.

"That's all right, it isn't your fault. Shall we go up, then?" He nodded. Together they set off down the path out of the forest and up the sloping lawn to the castle. They did not speak until they reached the staircase leading to the dungeons, where they bid one another goodbye and set off toward their respective common rooms. Draco decended into the cool, dark passages, thinking longingly of a bath and dry clothes. Upon reaching the dormitory, however, he found it firmly shut and locked. As he knew from experience that Alohomora was useless on this particular door, he merely sighed and knocked.

"Who's there?" Blaise's voice demanded at once in what its owner clearly considered to be a commanding, authoritative tone. Draco sighed.

"It is I, Professor Snape," he said sardonically. "I demand that you open the door to this chamber at once." There was a pause.

"Don't fuck around, Draco," Blaise replied, dropping his officious tone. "I know it's you."

"Why did you ask who it was then?"

"I'm practicing." Draco frowned, utterly nonplussed.

"What for?"

"None of your business."

"Are you going to let me in, then?"

"I can't."

"And why not?" Draco demanded, beginning to get seriously annoyed. For a moment there was silence from behind the door.

"I've got a chest of drawers in front of the door." Draco stared at the door. Blaise had _what_ in front of it?

"Come again?"

"Just go away, Draco, all right? It's none of your business."

"Open the door or I'll blast it open, Blaise, I mean it."

At that moment, footsteps from behind announced the arrival of Theodore Nott. Draco immediately turned to the other boy.

"What the bloody hell is going on here?" Theo shrugged.

"Dunno," he said calmly, running a hand through his stylishly mussed chestnut-brown hair. "Vince, Greg, and I had to sleep in the common room last night. Boy, are you filthy," he added, a grin spreading across his handsome face, clearly delighted by Draco's uncharacteristicly dishevled state.

"I don't want to hear about it," snapped Draco, turning and leading the way out into the common room. They found Pansy at a nearby table doing her Charms homework. She looked up as the boys joined her.

"Morning," she greeted, then frowned. "Draco, you look terrible. Are you all right?"

"Yes," he said grumpily. "Why has Blaise shut us all out of the dormitory?" Pansy smirked.

"Apparently he hexed some Gryffindor from behind in the corridor yesterday, but the Gryffindor saw him. According to Hannah Abbot, it turned very ugly. And now Blaise has sprouted donkey ears and is refusing to come out of the dormitory as long as he lives." Draco stared at her.

"You're telling me," he said slowly, "that I cannot put on dry clothes because Blaise has decided he can't bear to be seen with donkey ears?" Pansy shrugged.

"Evidently. Shall we go to breakfast, then?" Draco shook his head.

"You two go, I'm not going like this." Shrugging, Pansy and Theo departed. Draco watched his friends' retreating backs for a moment before standing and turning his steps toward the dormitories. This time, dammit, Blaise would let him in, or Draco would ensure that he recieved a tail to match his ears.


	7. As Yet Untitled

Chapter 7

15 January, 8:25 a.m.

The Great Hall

For the hundredth time, Ginny's eyes scanned the Ravenclaw table. She couldn't believe Luna was gone, that she had disappeared so quickly without a trace. Much as she wanted to trust that her friend was all right, Ginny couldn't make herself believe Padma Patil's explanation that she had simply decided to remain at home. This story struck her as glib. There must be another reason for Luna's absence, and this worried Ginny deeply. She had mentioned this to Neville several times, but he seemed not to want to talk about it: he generally either pretended he hadn't heard her or abruptly changed the subject. Ginny knew this meant he shared her worries.

Sighing, she turned back to her porridge. She knew she would not be able to pay the slightest bit of attention in her lessons today. Horrible images of Luna trapped in some dank, underground prison cell filled her mind and refused to budge. She couldn't imagine why anyone would want to harm Luna, but this did little to calm her racing mind. Somewhere, she was certain, her friend was in trouble, and there was absolutely nothing that Ginny could do to prevent it.

15 January, 2:15 p.m.

Sleet fell in great torrents around him, but Draco didn't care. He ran as quickly as his legs would carry him over the saturated ground, desperate to reach Hagrid's cabin. The gamekeeper's note this morning at breakfast swam in the forefront of his consciousness, filling his heart with a horrible, dull ache. It could not be true. Hagrid had said Aclyptia would be all right, he had promised. This was a cruel joke, designed to give Draco a morning of panic for Hagrid's amusement. That was all. It must be.

Draco found Hagrid outside his cabin, tending a large bondfire containing several salamanders. Hearing Draco's approach, Hagrid looked up.

"Thought yeh migh' come down today," he said. "I'll let yeh see her, she's aroun' back."

"Thank you, sir," replied Draco, setting off in the direction Hagrid indicated.

Having finished his check on the bondfire, Hagrid returned to his cabin. Through the window he watched Malfoy kneel beside the Thestral, wrapping his arms loosely around her neck and stroking her mane. The Thestral extended her long, pink tongue and licked the boy's cheek. Surprised, Hagrid stepped back from the window. He knew that Thestrals were very docile, but he had never seen one behave this way, and he'd had no idea students befriended them. He'd been very surprised when Malfoy had come to him a fortnight ago, in a panic because one of the Thestrals had been hurt. Now, the gentleness with which he treated her astonished Hagrid. The kid seemed to care a great deal for the Thestral.

Despite the magnitude of her injury, Hagrid had been convinced he could put her right until very recently. He'd sent Malfoy a note that morning when it had become unclear whether the Thestral would survive or not, and since then her condition had continued to deteriorate. He hadn't expected the boy to come and visit her, but it seemed the right thing to do. He'd certainly never have guessed that Malfoy, of all people, would cultivate a friendship with a Thestral. Apparently his impression of the boy had been at least partly, if not entirely, wrong.

15 January, 3:30 p.m.

At the end of an hour, Draco made his way through the sodden grounds back to the castle, a large, painful knot in his stomach. According to Hagrid, the infection in Aclyptia's cut seemed to be spreading throughout her body. Though he said that there was still time to improve her condition, Draco could tell the gamekeeper was only trying to soften the inevitable blow of her death.

That thought caused his stomach to twist painfully, and he contemplated skiving off Transfiguration. However, he knew McGonagall wouldn't appreciate this. She wouldn't give him detention as this would inevitably invole the Carrows, but she would find another way to make him pay should he skip her class. He had a feeling she wouldn't be impressed by wounded Thestrals.

He continued up the sloping lawn, and after a moment the bell rang. Up ahead, fifteen or twenty students emerged from the Herbology greenhouses. Sixth years, Draco noted. Mostly Hufflepuffs, but the odd Gryffindor and one Slytherin he knew by sight but had never spoken to. The group spread out in different directions, off to their various classes. Draco wandered in their midst, paying little attention to where he was going. As a result, he collided heavily with one of the sixth years.

"Sorry," he muttered, barely glancing up.

"That's all right," said Ginny Weasley, sounding slightly amused. "It's just as much my fault as yours."

He looked up. Her red hair was plaited into two braids on the sides of her head, and a light smudge of earth marked her shapely nose. Her face was lit in a slight smile, her brown eyes twinking. She was beautiful.

"Oh," he said, forcing his voice to sound level. "Hello. I didn't see you."

She shrugged a bit as they set off toward the castle.

"Nor did I." She paused. "See you, I mean, not me." In spite of his worries, Draco smiled slightly at her joke. Ginny grinned. Despite her resolution to stay away from Draco, she couldn't stop her heart lifting at his smile.

He stopped, turning slightly to face her. The longing he'd felt in the Forbidden Forest returned forcefully, almost knocking him off his feet. He wanted-he _needed_ to touch her. Slowly he raised a slightly shaking finger and lightly brushed the dirt from her nose.

Ginny's eyes widened. Had he really just touched her, or had it been her imagination? But no, it wasn't her imagination. She could feel the imprint of his finger almost burning against her flesh. She was overcome with the powerful urge to pull him close to her, to kiss him. They allowed their eyes to lock for a second longer before they simulaneously turned back toward the castle.

They reached the Entrance Hall and bid one another goodbye as he set off for Transfiguration, she for Potions. Ginny lingered a bit before descending into the dungeons, watching as Draco climbed the stairs and eventually disappeared from her sight. He reminded her a bit of Harry in stature and in gait. She smiled, imagining the expression on Harry's face if she ever mentioned this similarity to him.

15 January, 8:25 p.m.

"Please, Draco?"

"No."

"It'll only take a second."

"I said, no."

"Please, Draco! Just give me a look, it can't hurt." Sighing, Draco shoved aside his Charms book and looked Theo in the eye.

"A month ago you asked me the same thing, and then you exactly copied my essay and landed us both in detention. I haven't forgotten." Theo sighed.

"You've let Pansy copy," he accused.

"No, I haven't."

"He hasn't," echoed Pansy, glancing up from her Divination essay.

"You keep out of this," snapped Theo. Pansy shrugged and returned to her work. When Draco made to do the same, Theo sighed.

"Draco, please. You know I'm lousy at this. Will you at least look it over and tell me if I've got anything wrong?" Draco sighed. He knew that by "look over," Theo meant "finish writing." They'd had this arugment about nearly every piece of Transfiguration homework they'd ever recieved, and Draco couldn't remember winning once. Besides, tonight he was much too tired and anxious to put up a fight. Knowing he was beaten, he extended a hand.

"Give it here," he said wearily. Grinning, Theo thrust his half-finished essay into Draco's hand.

"Cheers, Draco. Well, g'night," he said merrily, rising from the table and quickly departing the common room. Muttering under his breath, Draco briefly scanned Theo's Transfiguration essay. As he'd expected, it was extremely poorly written and mostly incorrect. With a noise of contempt he crumpled the parchment into a ball and tossed it into the nearby fire. Slightly surprised, Pansy looked up. Draco was always a bit annoyed by Theo's requests for Transfiguration homework, but never to this degree. But then, he'd seemed detached and irritable for most of the afternoon. She stared at the side of his head until he looked up.

"What's bothering you?" she asked.

"Nothing," he snapped.

"Draco."

He sighed. He knew he couldn't decieve her-she knew him far too well. However, he wouldn't tell her everything. He couldn't. He would have to tell Pansy about Ginny eventually-lying to her simply wasn't an option, and besides she very well might guess-but he didn't want to just yet. A bit reluctantly, he told her about the cut on Aclyptia's leg, about Hagrid trying to heal her, about the gamekeeper's note this morning. Pansy listened without interruption. By the time he'd finished, she could tell he was fighting tears. She felt terrible for him. Silly as it was, she knew how important the Thestrals were to Draco. And Aclyptia...He loved Aclyptia. She had been his favorite since their second year, and Pansy knew that Draco would be a mess if she died. Pushing aside her Divination homework, Pansy wrapped her arms around him and held him tightly. After a moment he returned the gesture, and she felt the familiar sensation of his cheek nestled in her hair.

"She'll be all right," she assured him softly, doing her best to sound certain.

"I know," he nearly whispered. "But what if she isn't?"

"You'll have me." There was a pause.

"I love you." Pansy looked up at the blond boy, a bit surprised and rather touched. These words meant a great deal to Draco, and he did not use them lightly-she could count the number of times he'd said this to her on one hand.

"I love you, too," she said quietly, running her fingers gently through his white-blond hair. She knew he liked this, but normally he protested if she did it in front of others. Tonight, however, he sighed in contentment and allowed her to continue, resting his head gently on her shoulder. They remained like this as the common room emptied around them, and it was very late before they stirred themselves to go to bed.

16 January, 12:15 a.m.

Ginny lay awake that night, listening to her roommates' peaceful breathing and staring at the darkened ceiling. She couldn't stop picturing Draco's slight smile at her pathetic little joke, going over their brief conversation in her head. He had spoken to her, and more than that, he had touched her. Could it be...No. No, it couldn't. _Stop it,_ she told herself firmly. _You're getting carried away. Nothing's happened._

But she couldn't stop it. The boy found his way into her thoughts with increasing frequency no matter how hard she tried to evict him. Her resolution was being put through considerable strain, and Ginny had no idea what she should possibly do.

Perhaps she should write to Hermione, she thought. The two girls had regularly exchanged letters since school had begun, and though they never talked of where Hermione, Harry, and Ron were or what they were doing-Hermione never said, in case her letters were intercepted-it was comforting to know that the three of them were all right. Hermione was always keen to hear about the goings-on at Hogwarts-she would help Ginny with her dilemma. Yes, Ginny decided, she would write to Hermione first thing next morning. Hermione would know exactly what to do


	8. Owls and Brothers

**Wow, it's been, what, over a month? Sorry. I'll work on that. Anyway, here's chapter 8. Enjoy.**

18th January, 8:35 p.m.

The 7th Floor

Ginny made her way quickly through the deserted corridor, her heart pounding in her throat. In keeping with her resolution three days prior she'd written to Hermione asking for advice with regard to the Draco situation. Instead, she'd receieved an urgent letter from Harry asking whether Luna had returned from the Christmas holidays. Harry had gone on to explain that he, Hermione, and Ron and been to see Xenophelius Lovegood and had reason to believe Luna had been captured by Death Eaters. Since returning from the holidays Ginny had been afraid of this, and now Harry's letter had confirmed her fears.

In addition to this, Harry had included a hastily scribbled postscript asking what she knew about the Tale of the Three Brothers. This confused her. She couldn't see why Harry would be asking her about the Tale of the Three Brothers, or what a childrens' story could possibly have to do with defeating Voldemort. Odd as it was, though, this was her first real hint as to exactly what Harry, Ron, and Hermione were doing, and perhaps if she answered Harry's question he would elaborate.

When Ginny slipped through the heavy wooden door to the owlry, she saw that she wasn't alone. Draco was sitting on the edge of one of the large, glassless windows, looking out at the grounds. Despite her worries, Ginny nearly laughed. She'd known Harry to do that-he said it reminded him of flying.

Hearing the door creak open, Draco looked around. As his eyes found Ginny's, he felt his cheeks grow hot. _Damn it,_ he thought. This was the first time he'd been alone with Ginny, truly alone with her, and he knew he wouldn't be able to resist.

Ginny took a tentative step forward, her heart pounding, as Draco hesitantly stood. They did not speak, merely approached one another until they were but a foot apart. Still, neither spoke. Ginny wondered whether she would ever be capable of speech again. She ached to kiss Draco; she couldn't remember ever wanting anything more. She felt slightly dizzy. She could see every beautiful, refined detail of the boy's face, and she couldn't imagine ever looking away.

She was so close. So very, very close. Every nerve in his body stood on end, longing to feel her skin against his.

With this thought he felt rather than saw her slowly raise a slightly shaking hand. He stiffened. Would she...Yes. Ginny's hand softly grazed his cheek, and this was his undoing. He raised his own hand to lightly cradle the girl's face, gently pulling her closer. Their lips met.

Ginny felt as though her body were filling with warm liquid. Draco's lips felt deliciously warm and soft against her own, and he tasted wonderfully sweet. Everywhere his hands touched left trails of warmth on her skin.

Draco, meanwhile, was in a daze. He could feel Ginny's hand on his cheek, his own nestled in her hair, her lips against his. He could taste the warm interior of her mouth and smell the faint, flowery aroma of her skin, but he felt strangely detached, as if he were outside of himself. It was as though he were looking upon the scene from somewhere above as well as experiencing it. This could not be real, he was certain. It was his imagination. He must be dreaming.

It was over quickly, much too quickly. As they broke apart Ginny became suddenly aware of how very cold it was in the owlry. She longed for the warmth of Draco's hand against her cheek, his lips against hers. She could scarcely remember why she'd come here in the first place; it seemed like a far-off dream, something she'd left behind her at daybreak.

"Wow," she whispered, staring up at him. His pale features looked as shocked and awed as she felt. He nodded, his eyes never leaving her face. Ginny swallowed. Before she allowed herself to become carried away, there was something she had to know.

"Pansy Parkinson," Ginny began quietly.

Draco was startled. He didn't know what he'd expected, but it wasn't this.

"What about her?" he asked. Ginny stared at the floor. Little though she liked to ask, she had to know.

"Are you...I mean, is she your..." she couldn't say it. Draco looked extremely confused.

"My girlfriend?" he finished for her. He knew many Slytherins believed that he and Pansy were going out, but it was absurd to find that the false rumor had reached the rest of the school. Draco had no idea of its origin; he could think of few things more abhorrent than kissing his best friend. He shook his head.

"No, she isn't," he said. Ginny nodded.

"All right, then," she said quietly. They set off toward the door, and they were several corridors away before Ginny remembered Harry's letter. She felt slightly guilty, but she would respond next morning; it wasn't as though Harry would miss her letter if it arrived one day late. However, this resolution did little to appease her gnawing conscience. She felt as though she ought to acknoledge this somehow, though she couldn't imagine Harry being especially pleased if she discussed his letter with Draco, or Draco particularly caring in the first place. She thought a moment.

"Draco?" she said at length.

"Hmm?"

"What do you know about the Tale of the Three Brothers?" Draco looked at her, slightly surprised. He hadn't thought about the Tale of the Three Brothers since he was very small.

"The Tale of the Three Brothers? The three brothers who are walking down to the river at twilight-"

"Midnight," Ginny interrupted without thinking, a slight smile on her face. Draco looked at her, surprised and slightly amused.

"No, it isn't, it's twilight."

"Mum always said mignight. I think it's a bit spookier if it's midnight." They laughed, and it dawned on Ginny that this was the first time she'd seen Draco truly smile.

"All right, the three brothers are walking to the river at _midnight,_" he conceeded, "and they conjure the bridge to get across."

"They aren't walking _to_ the river," Ginny corrected. "They're walking, and they come upon the river." Draco gave her a look that was one part annoyance and two parts amusement.

"All right, all right," he said. "Merlin, can't anyone tell a story?" Ginny laughed.

"By all means, go on."

"All right, the brothers are _walking_ at _midnight_ and they come upon a river, and they conjure a bridge to get across. And Death meets them halfway across, and offers them three gifts, known as the Deathly Hallows." Ginny frowned.

"The Deathly Hallows?"

"The cloak, the wand, and the stone."

"But there isn't anything like that in the story."

"Well, of course there isn't. Some people believe they're real, don't they?" Ginny looked up at Draco, surprised. Could this explain Harry's interest in the tale?

"Are they?" she asked. Draco snorted.

"Of course not. It's a childrens' story."

"Yes, but that doesn't mean it couldn't be true," said Ginny thoughtfully. This began a lively discussion of other childrens' tales and whether or not they were based in fact. Draco was surprised by how easy Ginny was to speak to-nearly as easy as Pansy, and certainly easier than Blaise or Theo. He was sorry when they reached the entrance to Gryffindor Tower. They bade one another good night, and Draco set off down the eight flights of stairs and countless winding passages to the dungeons.

Outside Gryffindor Tower

Ginny stared after Draco, reflecting upon their conversation. She'd always imagined him as being aloof, haughty, and cooly intimidating, but he'd been quite happy to discuss childrens' books with her. More than that, he had kissed her, actually kissed her, and had not run away immediately afterward. She smiled to herself, all her determination to stay away from the boy gone. It looked as though perhaps the future might be a shade more interesting than she had envisioned.

"Well," snapped the Fat Lady, bringing Ginny sharply to her senses, "are you going to give me the password or shall I go back to sleep and leave you standing there all night?"

Slytherin Common Room

When Draco entered the common room he projected his usual image of haughty composure, but a fierce battle was raging inside his head. It had been extremely foolish to kiss Ginny, yet he could think of nothing but the touch of her skin, the scent of her hair.

Quickly scanning the room, Draco spotted Pansy at a table in the far corner. Relieved to see that she was alone, he made his way over and joined her.

"Hello," she greeted, looking up from her Charms essay. When Draco didn't respond, she frowned.

"What's the matter? You look terrible," she said, pushing aside her homework. Glancing around at the few students gathered around the roaring fire, Draco gently took Pansy's wrist, leading her out of the common room.

"Draco, where are we going?" Pansy demanded, utterly confused.

"Pansy, shut up for a bit, all right? Just come on." Pansy opened her mouth to reply, but Draco quickened his stride and she fell silent. When at last he was satisfied that they were alone Draco stopped, turning to face Pansy.

"What the _hell_ is going on?" she demanded at once, her expression an odd combination of curiosity, annoyance, and concern. In a low voice, Draco explained the events that had taken place in the owlry, along with a brief description of the incident outside on the grounds three days prior. Throughout his narrative Pansy's expression changed little, but as he finished his story she burst out laughing.

"Shh!" he hissed, glancing anxiously around them. "Pansy, there's nothing funny about any of this!" With an enormous effort, Pansy managed to regain control of herself.

"Oh, Draco," she said in a tone of mock weariness, reaching up to affectionately muss his hair.

"Of course it's not funny, it's just...Well, I've been expecting-"

"Don't tell me you've been expecting this!" snapped Draco, nettled. Pansy laughed.

"Well, I've wondered who at the Gryffindor table you've been staring at at breakfast for the last week, you know, you've been a bit obvious." Draco stared at her. Had he really been staring at Ginny during breakfast? And even if he had, he'd thought Pansy had been too absorbed in arguing with Blaise to notice anything he did. Of course, Pansy had always posessed an uncanny ability to predict his girlfriends, occasionally even before he became interested.

"Oh, all right," he conceeded, sighing. "But, Pansy..." he swallowed. "What should I do?"

Pansy smiled, overcome with tenderness for Draco. He looked almost desperate, most unlike his usual appearance of composure.

"Right now, I suggest you go to bed," she said, taking his pale hand in hers. "You're going to need your rest for the game tomorrow." Draco sighed.

"What's the point? We're going to be _slaughtered_ by Ravenclaw. I've got half a mind to just skip the match."

"Nonsense, you're the captain of the team," she said, rolling her eyes and leading him toward the dormitories. "Come on."

"All right, all right," sighed Draco. "You're not supposed to be in here," he added as they reached the door to the boys' dormitory. She waved this away and pushed open the dark wood door. Luckily, the room beyond was deserted.

Pulling Draco inside, Pansy shut the door behind them and crossed the room, nearly throwing her friend into his bed.

"Hey-" Draco protested, but she sat beside him and lightly brushed his blond bangs from his forehead.

"You're sweet, Draco," she said softly, lightly stroking his hair. A slight smile flickered across the boy's face.

"And if you decided to pursue her," Pansy went on, pointing her wand at the door to lock it, "Ginny Weasley would be incredibly lucky. And if you didn't...I think you'd regret it."

Draco opened his mouth to respond, but after a moment closed it again. He couldn't remember what he was going to say. He had always greatly enjoyed the feeling of Pansy's gentle hand caressing his hair, but tonight her touch felt a bit better than it normally did. His eyelids grew heavy, and before long he felt his eyes closing, quite of their own volition. Pansy smiled, moving her hand to lightly cradle his cheek.

"Sweet dreams, Dragon," she said softly.

"Don't call me Dragon," he murmured sleepily. She laughed very slightly, bending to gently kiss the boy's forehead as he drifted off to sleep.

When she was certain that Draco was sleeping too deeply to notice her absence Pansy stood, pulling the covers over him before tiptoeing to the door. As she eased it open she came face-to-face with Blaise, Theo, Vince, and Greg, all of whom looked extremely annoyed.

"What the ruddy hell-" Theo began, but Pansy quickly shushed him.

"He's asleep," she whispered. "Don't wake him." Without further ado she moved past them, leaving them to enter the darkened dormitory


	9. Quiddich

19th January, 7:05 a.m.

The Quiddich Pitch

Draco emerged from the broom shed onto the deserted Quiddich pitch, assessing the conditions as he did so. The sky was adorned with a thin cloud cover, which was good as it would prevent the sun from blinding them. However, a strong wind was blowing and the ground was saturated with moisture and slippery with melting snow. They would have to be extremely careful to avoid being blown off course. Sighing, Draco prepared to mount his broom. His team was due to arrive in ten minutes-he wanted to practice a bit more before the match, not that he expected it to make a great deal of difference.

Before he could take off, however, a loud whoosh sounded directly above his head. Very startled, he looked around quickly as Victoria Moran, his fourth-year chaser, landed beside him.

"Hello," she said, brushing her long, dark hair behind her ear. Draco stared.

"How long have you been out here?" he asked. She shrugged.

"Not long. A half-hour, maybe. Are the others arriving soon?"

"In ten minutes. Shall we?" he asked, gesturing upward. She nodded, and they mounted their brooms and kicked off from the ground. Draco allowed Victoria to draw ahead of him, watching her from below. Her technique was impressive-Draco himself had been doing several things wrong since he'd begun flying eleven years previously-yet she seemed oddly stiff and anxious, as if afraid of being up off the ground. She should loosen her grip a bit, he thought. And lean farther forward. He contemplated mentioning this to her, but decided against it. If she tried to alter her technique on the day of a match, she wouldn't fly as well. Besides, she was easily his best Chaser and, aside from himself, the best player on the team.

Having finished his evaluation, Draco shot upward to meet his Chaser, spinning like a corkscrew and looping her several times before coming to rest alongside her. Her eyes widened.

"Will you show me how to do that?" she breathed, looking amazed.

"Yes, but not now. Can you stay after next practice?"

"I expect so," she said, giving him an almost searching look. "You love this, don't you?" she said at length. "You make it look so easy." Unable to help himself, Draco smiled a bit. The girl's words were true; he did love this.

He'd begun flying at the age of six-he and Pansy had discovered an old Cleansweep Five in her father's shed, and Pansy had dared him to try flying it. He would never forget that incredible feeling, a combination of anxiety at being up so high and exhilaration at the freedom of flying unencumbered through the air. He loved the wind on his face, the delicious smell of the fresh air. He played Quiddich not for any aspect of the sport, but for that wonderful feeling. He could care less about being Captain-quite honestly, he didn't care what position he played. All he wanted was to fly.

As they hovered in midair, five small, greenish blurs emerged from the broom shed onto the field below.

"Come on," Draco said to Victoria, setting off to join the remaining members of his team on the ground.

"I don't see why we've got to be here so bloody _early_," grumbled Keeper Aiden Marshall the instant Draco landed beside him.

"Yeah," muttered Liam McKinley. "I haven't had any breakfast." Draco rolled his eyes. He'd expected complaints, but that didn't make them any less grating.

"Listen, you lot," he snapped. "It's your own fault if you haven't had breakfast. If you aren't willing to be here you're welcome to resign tomorrow, and I'll give your spot to someone who wants it. Now, let's go."

Turning his back to his team, Draco mounted his broom and kicked off from the ground. Seconds later the remaining six players rose into the air with him, and they were off.

Nearly an hour and a half later, after the most discouraging practice Draco had had the displeasure to participate in, the team retired to the locker room as the stands above began to fill. For nearly fifteen minutes, no one spoke. Looking around the room, Draco could see that everyone was thinking the same thing: they were about to be utterly destroyed by Ravenclaw.

Perhaps, he tried to convince himself, their chances might not be quite so bleak. Cho Chang had left the previous year, and had been replaced as Seeker by Angelica Thompson, a third year and an abysmal flier. Getting to the Snitch before her would not present a challenge. However, the only way they could stand a chance of winning was for Draco to catch the Snitch before Ravenclaw scored fifteen goals. With Ravenclaw's superb Chasers and Slytherin's dreadful Keeper, he knew that this would be difficult.

A whistle sounded from above, summoning them to the pitch. Draco tried to think of some words of encouragement, but all that came to mind were blatantly untrue, so he merely stood and led his team outside onto the field.

The fifteen minutes that followed were some of the most embarrassing of Draco's life. Five minutes into the game his fourth-year beaters made to hit a bludger simultaneously and instead hit one another around the head and promptly fell off their brooms. After watching this spectacle through narrowed eyes, Draco turned his full attention to searching for the Snitch. He needed to find it soon as Ravenclaw had already scored four goals, and in any case if he was focused on the Snitch he wouldn't have to watch whatever excruciating blunders the Slytherin spectators were booing and hissing about.

Tuning out the roar of the crowd, Draco flew high above the game, gray eyes scanning the scene below for the familiar glint of gold_. _He slowly circled the pitch, straining his eyes for the Snitch and counting every time Ravenclaw scored. Nine...Ten...Time was running short. The Snitch must be here somewhere, he thought desperately. Eleven...Twelve...Thirteen. Beginning to panic now, Draco flew slightly lower as Ravenclaw scored their fourteenth goal. Dammit, he thought desperately. It was hopeless, he knew. Unless he caught the Snitch now..._there._ Several meters below, Draco spotted a shimmer of gold hovering just above Marshall's left ear. Instinctively, he dove at his Keeper, praying that the tiny ball would remain where it was for just a few more seconds. As he approached, however, he glimpesd something scarlet looming toward him out of the corner of his eye. Ravenclaw's fifteenth goal, and Marshall was obviously too busy wondering why his Seeker was attacking him to notice the Quaffle. If Ravenclaw scored, they could not win the match.

Draco acted immediately, instinctively. With his left hand he made a desperate swipe for the Quaffle, deflecting it back at the Ravenclaw Chaser as his right shot forward and snatched the tiny, fluttering gold ball out of the air. As his hand closed around the cold metal, Marshall's outstretched fist collided spectacularly with his face. Blood spurted everywhere, and Draco felt his nose break. Before he had time to fully register this, however, another large, heavy object hit the back of his head. Instantly, everything went black.

The Hospital Wing

Next thing he knew, he was lying on something incredibly warm and soft, and smelling faintly of flowers. Draco barely had time to register this before a horrible, sickening pain stole over him. His head was throbbing, and his body felt as though invisible daggers were slowly, painstakingly slicing apart his innards. His stomach ached horribly, and he felt extremely nauseous. Voices came indistinctly from above, sounding as though they were underwater.

"...be all right?" said a girl's voice fretfully.

"Madam Pomfrey says he'll be fine," a boy snapped at her. "Will you bloody let go of my arm?"

"He doesn't look all right to me," replied the girl, and Draco recognized Pansy's voice.

"Well, of course not, Pansy," scoffed another boy. "Shall we hit you round the head with a Bludger and toss you off the Astronomy tower, and then see how you look?"

"Damn sight better than she normally does, I reckon," muttered Draco, wincing as the pain in his head sharpened. There was shocked silence for a few moments.

"Are you all right, then, Draco?" the first boy asked, a bit more quietly.

"Spectacular, Blaise," Draco replied, very sarcastically. "Never better."

Blaise started to reply, but Draco barely heard him. His head hurt so badly that he could scarcely feel the rest of his body anymore. He was afraid to open his eyes. He wished his friends would shut up, but he was sure that if he opened his mouth, he'd throw up.

After a minute, however, the voices quieted and Draco felt Pansy's hand gently cradle his cheek. Her skin was freezing, and this seemed to sharpen the pain in his head.

"Pansy..." he whispered, but this was a mistake. His stomach lurched horribly, and a bitter, acidic taste consumed his suddenly very dry throat. Oh, shit. Frantically Draco tried to resist, but he was powerless to supress the vomit pouring from his mouth, tearing at his throat like shards of glass, overwhelming his tongue with its bitter, metallic taste.

With a shriek like a strangled cat, Pansy leapt back, her robes covered in Draco's vomit. Behind her, Blaise and Theo roared with laughter.

"This _isn't funny!_" she snapped, but this served only to increase their merriment.

"Scorgify," choked Theo, waving his wand in Pansy's direction. Instantly, she felt her robes dry and immediately felt more charitably disposed toward her best friend. When she was satisfied that he wasn't going to puke on her again, she knealt beside him once more.

"Would you like to sleep, Draco?" she whispered, gently brushing his white-blond bangs from his pale face. He nodded ever so slightly. Pansy drew her wand from inside her robes and circled above his face three times. Within minutes, he was deeply asleep.

Hours later, Draco became aware of another hand lightly cradling his face. The person's touch was incredibly warm and soft, and seemed to lull him gently toward consciousness.

"Pansy?" he whispered. Above him, a girl laughed softly.

"Good guess," she replied. "Why don't you open your eyes?" A bit confused, Draco obeyed and found to his surprise that he didn't feel nearly as awful as he had earlier. His headache was nearly gone, and the pain dominating the rest of his body had subsided significantly.

"That's better, isn't it?" said Ginny Weasley. Draco looked up, surprised.

"What time is it?" he asked after a moment, his voice slightly hoarse from sleep. Ginny glanced at the clock on the far wall.

"A quarter past eight," she said. "How do you feel?"

"Fine," he said impatiently. "What happened at the match? Who won?" To his surprise, Ginny laughed. Draco raised an eyebrow, then winced at the pain this caused in his head.

"Well, it's not funny, really," said Ginny. "You got the Snitch, but Marshall panicked-"

"And hit me around the face, I remember that. Did Ravenclaw score?"

"No, you saved the goal, it was brilliant. But then...Well, I think he was aiming for Davies, but McKinley hit you in the back of the head with a Bludger, and you fell off your broom."

Draco stared at her. She couldn't be serious.

"Brilliant," he said savagely. "Really brilliant. And I suppose we lost the match as well?"

"No," said Ginny. "Actually, the final score was one hundred forty to one hundred fifty, your favor." She looked at him levelly for a moment. "You were billiant, Draco," she said softly. A bit surprised by her change of tone, Draco looked at her, and instantly felt the world around him melt into a blur. Her brown eyes seemed to spin slowly, pulling him deeper and deeper inside them. Before he was fully aware of it, he extended a hand to gently cradle her cheek, bringing them closer, closer...

"Oy!" instantly they broke apart, startled. Madam Pomfrey was marching toward them, her expression livid.

"I don't care how many Quiddich games you've won, Mr. Malfoy, I won't have snogging in my infirmary! Miss Weasley, visiting hours ended twenty minutes ago! Five points from Gryffindor and Slytherin! Out! OUT!"

Ginny hastened out of the hospital wing, her face crimson. Muttering darkly under her breath, Madam Pomfrey retreated to her office and drew the curtains. Chortling behind his hand, Draco watched them go, thinking of Ginny's face, and her voice. _You were brilliant, Draco._ Suddenly, in spite of the pain in his body, he felt very good indeed.

Seventh-Floor Corridor

As soon as she was out of the hospital wing, Ginny paused to catch her breath. She wondered what explanation she should give Neville for her absence. Perhaps she could pretend-Fuck it. She had to tell Neville sometime, so why not now? It wasn't as though she could keep her feelings for Draco secret forever-Neville certainly wasn't stupid. Besides, if they started going out together (her heart leapt at the thought), Neville was bound to notice.

Having made her decision, Ginny started off toward Gryffindor Tower, mentally reconstructing the morning's Quiddich match. Her words in the hospital wing were true; Draco had flown brilliantly. She'd watched him for years, even played Seeker against him once. He was at least as good as Harry, though Ginny doubted even Harry could have managed what Draco had done that morning.

When Ginny entered the crowded common room, she spotted Neville at a table beside the roaring fire and made her way over.

"Where have you been all this time?" he asked, looking up from his Herbology essay. Ginny sighed, glancing around the room to make sure no one was listening.

"There's something I've got to tell you," she said quietly. Neville frowned.

"What is it? Are you all right?" She swallowed hard.

"Neville," she whispered. "Last night, I kissed Draco Malfoy in the owlry."

There was a loud thump as Neville's Herbology book hit the floor.

"You did _what?_" he gasped. "But-Ginny-_Malfoy?_"

"I know," she whispered. "But, Neville...He isn't anything like I've always thought, he-"

"Ginny," Neville interrupted, his expression extremely grave. "I don't mind if you..." he swallowed. "Just...Be careful, will you?"

Ginny, who had been expecting an argument, stared.

"All right," she said. "I will."

The Hospital Wing

Hours later Draco lay awake, staring at the darkened ceiling. He didn't know what time it was, but he knew it must be very late. The castle was silent, and seemed completely devoid of human presence. Occasionally a ghost flitted across the ceiling, and Peeves had been past several times-Draco was relieved that the poltergeist hadn't seemed to notice him.

He felt extremely confused about Ginny. He knew very well that no relationship between them could possibly work, and it would be foolish to try. Even so, however, try as he might he could not banish the image of her face from his mind. In this dark room he could see her smile, her brown eyes twinkling with laughter. He could smell her hair, feel the touch of her skin, taste her lips against his. He wanted her more than he could remember wanting anything in his life, but he knew it would never be. For a start, their families famously loathed one another. Draco shuddered to think of his father's reaction if he knew of his son's feelings for Ginny Weasley. Lucius would be absolutely furious, and would probably leave Draco to fend for himself. Draco knew there would be no question in his father's mind of associating, however distantly, with the Weasleys. All his life he had been taught to fear and loathe such "blood traitors." Draco knew that his mother and Bellatrix had another sister-Andromeda, he believed she was called. However, since her marriage to a Mudblood they hadn'd seen her or her family; Draco had never met his cousin.

When he was small, all this had confused him enormously. He didn't see why he should fear Muggles. Indeed, as he had never actualy met one, he felt a bit fascinated by the idea of a life so different from his own. Having lived around magic his entire life, he couldn't imagine anyone getting along without it. As for Mudbloods, he didn't see that it held any bearing on his own life if two Muggles produced a witch or a wizard. It wasn't as though this detracted from anyone else's magic.

No, Draco was not concerned with blood. His dislike for Ginny's elder brother stemmed not from his family but from his grating personality. However, he had learned long ago not to voice this in front of his parents-or, indeed, in front of anyone other than Pansy. A relationship with Ginny would cross a boundary that had been in place Draco's entire life, so firmly that he scarcely dared contemplate it. It pained Draco enormously, but he knew that he must not allow his thoughts of Ginny to continue


End file.
